


a different instrument

by commandercosmo



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Other, Reader Insert, Resistance Member Reader, Soulmate AU, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandercosmo/pseuds/commandercosmo
Summary: You and your squadron were sent by the Resistance to serve as a distraction to the First Order. Things don't go accordingly to plan.





	a different instrument

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blurryjace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryjace/gifts).



> "in your hands, i'm quite simply /  
> a different instrument"

“There is no hope for you now, rebel scum. Surrender to the First Order.”

 

You hear bouts of laughter from your headset. You join, knowing that the sound will likely anger the officer on the other end even further. Adrenaline courses through you, encouraging the giddiness in you to rise as you get into formation.

 

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, buddy!”

 

“Not gonna happen!”

 

There’s silence from the other end of the radio, but the fire coming towards you and your squadron intensifies. You laugh wholeheartedly at this, weaving your way through the onslaught. With a few well-aimed blows, you take out one of the cannons firing at you, and you let out a cheer.

 

“Come and get me!” You taunt, following the lead of your fellow pilots. What you didn’t expect was for the fire to momentarily stop, and then pinpoint you specifically. You’re unable to dodge this fire, and to the sounds of your friends shouting your name, you’re hit.

 

* * *

 

General Hux curses under his breath. On top of the anger he was feeling at the ceaseless, childish taunting, he was now feeling a rush of confusion and denial. Subconsciously, Hux grabs his forearm. The words, hidden by his uniform, are finally revealed to have a voice. The sensors in front of him show that there is still a life sign on the offending ship.

 

Hux lets out a growl, turning to the officer to his left.

 

“Get that pilot to me, _alive,_ ” he orders before striding off the bridge with purpose.

 

* * *

 

You let out a low groan as you come to, your head pounding. You’re immediately aware of several sensations: pain in your left side, clasps on your arms and legs, and the white noise that accompanies a spacecraft in flight.

 

You squint your eyes before opening them, assuming that there would be bright lights around you. Upon opening them, however, you appear to be in a fairly plain dark room. You flutter your eyelids open and look around, wincing as you move your head too quickly.

 

The chair you’re in is rigid, but not as hard as you’d have expected. You can comfortably sink into some moderately padded cushions as you wait for your inevitable torture. You’re ready for it, though -- you’d expected this when you’d taken the job of being a distraction.

 

You’d been sent by the Rebellion. When they required a squad of pilots for this mission, you were the first to volunteer. You wanted to be as helpful as you possibly could, even if that meant risking your life. You’d be damned if the First Order prevailed. A group of some other pilots and you took your posts as soon as possible, eager to make the Order pay.

 

Your side twinges as you wriggle in your seat. Your ship had been hit, and you’d unfortunately taken some damage from the attack. Looking down in the dim light, you couldn’t see any blood. You sigh in relief -- it’s likely just some major bruising, or a fractured rib. An injury that’s easy enough to fix.

 

After sitting in silence for some time and looking around for any guards, you grow restless. As you ready yourself to shout for someone, you hear footsteps entering the room you’re in.

 

“Finally,” you say, doing your best to act casual. “I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.”

 

_“You’re part of the Rebellion.”_

 

The words are spoken harshly, and they feel like shards of ice down your spine. When you’d seen those words appear on your skin, they’d given you hope for your future -- a Rebel, someone seeking change, finding someone who revered doing the right thing as much as you did.

 

Now, however, you felt nothing but dread. An officer of the First Order. _Your soulmate._

 

“Y-You…? Who are you?” You demand, admittedly breathlessly, your eyes straining to see through the darkness.

 

The man finally steps closer. He’s tall, slender, and looks as though he hasn’t received a good nights sleep in ages. From what you recall, the man standing in front of you is none other than General Hux. Your heart almost stops in your chest, confusion written all over your face. Gone was your previous nonchalant act, replaced by what you could only describe as heartbreak.

 

“No. No, no, no, no, it can’t be _you._ ” Despite your protests, you can feel it. It’s like a part of you is reaching out to him, straining to connect now that you’re finally face-to-face. The connection you share feels exactly what’s been described to you since you were young, but you can’t feel anything but anger and betrayal.

 

Hux steps closer to you and stiffly tugs up the sleeve of his pristine black uniform. There, on his forearm, is the taunt you’d uttered not thirty minutes ago.

 

_“Come and get me!”_

 

Had the circumstances been different, you might have grinned at the reminder of your trek here. Words spoken out of resistance, permanently etched into the skin of one of the highest-ranking Generals of the First Order? The idea was laughable.

 

You, however, were far from laughter.

 

“Shit,” you say, your shoulders falling. You’re devastated. Of all people in all the galaxies, _General Hux_ of the _First Order_ had to be your soulmate? Just your fucking luck.

 

You don’t realize you’re staring at the dark words in front of you until the General pulls down his sleeve, straightening it. He places his hands behind his back, hiding his arm from your view.

 

“Indeed,” he says, his body rigid. He seems to be just as conflicted as you are, his brows furrowed, a scowl on his face. Hux is evidently filled with tension, and you wonder what’s going on in his mind.

 

You know you should be fuming right now, and trying to use this newfound information to your advantage. Instead, you find yourself missing the pale skin that had been in front of you moments ago. The words _\-- your words_ \-- on the skin of your soulmate had been somewhat entrancing, and you ache to see them again.

 

You tear your eyes away from the spot his arm just was, and you can’t help yourself from taking a second look at the man in front of you. The darkness of his uniform contrasts his almost-white skin even in the shadows of the room. His bright hair is slicked back to perfection and evidently well-kept. His eyes are what catch you the most off-guard. When you finally meet them with your own, you’re surprised to find that he’s holding tenderness rather than anger in his steely blue eyes.

 

You hate to say it, but General Hux is handsome. Son of a bitch. This was worse than the torture you’d been expecting in the first place.

 

You sniff pointedly, trying to regain your composure. You’re sure you can’t hide the confusion in your eyes, but you couldn’t just sit there and look at him like a love-sick teenager.

 

“Well, I guess you’re not awful to look at,” you say, your voice surprisingly even considering the circumstances. Your heart is in your throat and beating miles a minute at this point, making it hard to ignore. The pull is still there, making you fully aware of the bond between you and the General.

 

Hux scoffs, scowling again. Maybe that was just his permanent expression. _Great._

 

“I hardly believe that _that_ is the most pressing matter at hand,” he says stiffly, his posture still straight as an arrow. You know that this is as hard for him as it is for you -- well, almost, anyways -- and neither of you seem to know where to go from here.

 

You sigh tiredly. Evidently, you aren’t going you solve all of your problems with humour. Not with Hux, anyways.

 

“Listen, babe,” you say, enjoying the sight of him bristling at the pet name. “If you’re gonna just stand there looking pretty, I’d rather you just let me go. Or torture me. Whatever it is you’re planning on.”

 

Hux blinks. And again. For a moment, he looks like a confused owl, and you’re surprised that you find him endearing. For a fascist, anyways.

 

Something changes in Hux. His posture straightens, but not in the formal pose you’d seen him in first. No, he almost looks confident now, and there’s a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

 

“Let you go?” He all but purrs, sauntering closer to you. “My dear, why would I ever want to do that? Now that I’ve got you here, all to myself?” Hux stops in front of you, the toes of his shoes almost connecting with yours. The sides of his lips are curled upwards now, and though by all means you _should_ be intimidated, you know somehow that this is just a ruse, too.

 

General Hux is used to being in control, that much is clear. You can tell -- how, you’re not sure, but you can _tell_ \-- that he’s building himself up in a way that he’s used to, in a way that he’s comfortable with. There’s a little voice within you ensuring you that he’s doing this so that he can physically be closer to you, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re happy that he is. You can feel a physical relief, a release of tension, now that he’s within arm’s reach. That is, of course, if you were able to reach him.

 

“It would appear that I have you at somewhat of an advantage,” Hux murmurs, bending slightly at the waist to look you in the eyes. If he would just lean into you more then maybe you could meet his lips with yours. _Shit, no, don’t think about his lips._

 

“Yeah?” You tell him, finding yourself ashamedly breathless. You clear your throat. “What exactly do you plan on doing about it?”

 

Hux doesn’t rise to your bait, but he can probably tell what you’re trying to get from him. Instead of giving you what you want, he raises his gloved hand, using his index finger to glide along your jawline. You try your best to restrain from leaning into his touch, but ultimately fail. The black leather is warm, and this is the first contact you’ve had with him. Your body calls out for _more_ of its own accord.

 

You meet the General’s eyes, finding a great deal of fondness there, despite his beguiling words. He needs this as much as you do, as much as you’re both inclined to deny it. The bond that you share is too strong and goes beyond the divisions of your political stances, and the two of you are drawn together by a force too strong to deny.

 

The same finger moves under your chin, and Hux tilts your head up, his eyes flickering to your lips. You raise your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge. You’re practically shaking now, forcing yourself to remain still so that he has to make the first move. You may not have much control over this situation, but at least you can have this small victory.

 

Something snaps in him, and his lips are on yours, and you feel that _something_ in you is now at peace. The two of you slot together perfectly, as though you were made to be together this way. (Which, you suppose, is sort of the case, but you’re too preoccupied to ponder it any longer.)

 

You forget yourself for a moment, trying to use your hands to lace into his slicked hair. Once you’re met with the restraints, you make a sound of discontent, breaking the kiss for a moment. Hux looks puzzled, until he sees your wrists straining beside you. Despite the fact that he is almost definitely breaking protocol, he enters a simple passcode on the cuffs, and you’re freed.

 

Instead of trying to escape, which the logical part of your brain is screaming at you to do, your hands move to touch his pale face. His skin is smooth, and at your touch, he flushes. You’re giddy now, forgetting that you’re his prisoner or that he’s the General or that you really should be trying to leave. One of your hands laces behind his head, your fingers tangling in his hair, and you pull him down to you once more.

 

You know you’re grinning, and you’ve stopped trying to fight it. Hux’s hands are on you too now, and from the feeling of things, he’s smiling, too. You know that this can’t last and that you’re doomed to be taken away from him sooner or later, but for now, at least you have this.

 

For a moment, it doesn’t matter that he’s the head of the very organization you’re trying to take down. It doesn’t matter that you’re a rebel pilot who was sent to take down his troops. It doesn’t matter that you’re in restraints and quite probably supposed to be dead right now.

 

For now, all that matters is that the two of you are here, in front of each other, and that you’re soulmates. He’s finally here, and he’s kissing you with a tenderness entirely uncharacteristic of his persona.

 

And for now, that’s enough. It has to be.

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO This is my first finished Hux/Reader Fic and i hope you guys enjoyed it!!!  
> i want it to be clear that like, as much as i find hux Very Attractive, i absolutely want him to rot in hell because he is, at the end of the day, the head of a fascist organization
> 
> also this is dedicated 2 jay @blurryjace because he helped me out so much with writing this!! (both in terms of ideas and also, like, telling me to write it) i love u my dude and i hope u enjoy!!!


End file.
